


Broken (Cut my strings, watch me fall)

by Bumpkin, Veriatas



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bruce is trying, Dark Tim Drake, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Mentions of Suicidal Idealisation, Red Robin AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumpkin/pseuds/Bumpkin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veriatas/pseuds/Veriatas
Summary: He'd lost so much for, and because of, the damn uniform. He'd tried so fucking hard to earn it, be worthy of it, and carried the heavy weight of its legacy without flinching or faltering.And then Dick ripped the title from him, the title he'dearnedwith sweat and blood, andgiven it to a child who'd tried to murder him.Something inside Tim felt like it had snapped.
Comments: 121
Kudos: 484





	1. Part One:

**Author's Note:**

> (B) This story references Red Robin comics, #1-7.
> 
> A huge thank you to our betas, Oceans(he), [Rhubarbpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhubarbpie/pseuds/rhubarbpie), [TheFairMaidenOfFandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFairMaidenofFandom/pseuds/TheFairMaidenofFandom), and [ChibiNightOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl)!!!
> 
> This story is already fully written. We'll be posting every Saturday.

#####  Part One:

(wordcount: 2956) 

"You said we'd be okay," Tim said levely, then got a bit more strident as he continued. "My entire  _ life _ has burnt down. _ Again_!" Dick didn't say anything, forcing him to growl, "I don't call this 'okay', Dick."

Dick still didn't look at him, but he did at least speak up. "He's my responsibility now, Tim. You're not my protege, you're my  _ equal. _ My closest ally. You'll be okay." He finally turned, the earnest expression on his face clear that he was attempting to get Tim to see things his way. "But, Tim, you know better than anyone that if left on his own, he's going to kill someone. Again. You have to understand-"

Tim cut him off, "No. I  _ don't _. This," he motioned to point out the Batcave and all in it, "is all I have now."

At that moment, Damian decided to announce his presence. "Oh, are  _ you _ still here?"

Tim turned and saw the little gremlin wearing a modified version of the Robin costume. That was just too much. "You have  _ got _ to be kidding me."

Damian smirked. "We'll have to upgrade security in the cave, Batman. Keep out the riff-raff."

Tim spun back to the man he considered his older brother. "How can you let him wear that costume, Dick? What Earth are we on that you choose  _ him _ over  _ me_?"

"Don't be so sensitive, Drake." 

"Damian, shut up.  _ Now_." Dick finally decided to wade in, not that it accomplished much.

Damian decided he had to get in one more dig as Tim began to walk away. "Sorry, Drake. You're still part of the team — maybe the Batgirl costume is available!" 

He just always had to get the last word in, didn't he? 

Tim had let it slide before, so many times, in the name of preserving the peace and being a good example for the little shit. Well, no more. He spun and punched the brat. "My name is Tim  _ Wayne_!"

Damian hit the ground and held a gloved fist to his mouth briefly. Dick gasped sharply, an exhalation of shock, and pinned Tim's arms behind his back to stop him from making any further attacks. Damian took his hand away from his mouth. "I let you get that shot in, Drake. I want you to feel good about yourself… God knows you don't have any other reason!"

Tim elbowed Dick, forcing his way out of his grip and began to walk out of the cave again. This time he wouldn't turn back for anything. "You want me to back off? Fine."

Dick called after him, "He's gone, Tim. You have to accept it. Things have to change, but I still need you."

"For  _ what_?" Damian sniped and Dick just sighed heavily. 

"Shut _ up_, Damian."

Tim heard the words, but they fell on deaf ears. There wasn't any reason for him to listen to Dick any more, not when his brother had already abandoned him. He was no longer there — in person or in spirit.

* * *

  
  
Upstairs, Tim sat on the floor resting, trying to regain his breath after trashing his room. 

Resting and thinking. 

After everything,  _ everything_, he had done as Robin, for Gotham, for this  _ family_. He'd trained till he was exhausted, worked until he felt like he was dying. He'd shed tears and he'd bled for this role. He'd lost so much for — because of — the damn uniform. He'd tried so fucking hard to earn it, be  _ worthy _ of it, and carried the heavy weight of its legacy without flinching or faltering. Even when the once comforting weight of his cape felt like it was strangling him, at least he'd still been  _ Robin_. 

And then Dick ripped the title from him, the title he'd  _ earned _ with sweat and blood, and  _ given it to a child who tried to murder him_.

That was it, the final straw. And now Tim was  _ done_.

Something inside felt like it had snapped. 

After everything he'd gone through, suffered over the years, starting with the loss of his mother back when he was just starting out to this entire shit-show of a year… god, this year alone. Tim felt tears begin to prickle in his eyes again as he thought of the shit-show this last year had been. He fought them back while he scrubbed a hand over his face.

This was the second time he'd lost Robin. Come to think of it, the first time he'd lost Robin had been the start of it all, hadn't it? His Dad had ripped the cape from him just as cruelly as Dick, utterly uncaring that Tim was doing good work, that he was helping people. Oh no, all Jack Drake had cared about was  _ saving _ his son from the evil Bruce Wayne who'd  _ corrupted _ him into putting on a  _ playsuit _ and punching thieves. Like he hadn't been making a real difference, like he hadn't been  _ saving people's lives_. Like he hadn't  _ chosen  _ the cape, fought to earn it. A heartbeat, and Tim had been forced to give up a piece of himself, the biggest piece he'd ever been proud of. A career, an identity, a second life, just gone thanks to the ego of the man who liked the idea of being a father more than actually being a  _ Dad_. 

Then Steph, dear, darling Steph, stole her way into  _ his _ cape before it'd even gone cold without even  _ telling him_. 

How could she? 

How  _ dare _ she? 

She'd known exactly what Robin meant to him, and hadn't even given him time to grieve the loss of his identity before taking it for herself. God, she hadn't even given him the courtesy of telling him herself that it was over between them, let alone let him know that she was taking his place as Robin. He'd had to find out that she had the fucking job by reading it in the fucking Gotham Gazette at school. How was he meant to even look at her after that? She hadn't seemed to think she'd done a damn thing wrong. After all, he wasn't using it, was he?

And then she  _ died_. 

After that it was just death after death, Kon and Bart were gone in rapid succession, and he just couldn't seem to catch his breath, a double gut punch of loss slamming into his stomach. Both his best friends gone in an instant — how, just  _ how _ in the hell was he meant to cope? How was anyone meant to deal with this much grief without collapsing under it or losing their goddamn mind?

But Tim had coped. He'd settled his cape around his shoulders, simultaneously a comforting weight and the heaviest burden, and  _ kept going_. He'd kept fighting, kept being Robin, doing his best for his city and for Batman. 

And then he'd been betrayed,  _ again_.   
  


Because Steph wasn't dead. Oh no, she'd been alive the whole fucking time, and he'd been lied to  _ again_, made to grieve someone still breathing, someone he'd loved and hated and eventually forgiven, because she was just doing the best she could, right? Right? And she'd loved Tim too. She hadn't meant to hurt him, betray him, right?   
  


_ Wrong. _

She was working for Bruce, letting Batman use her to  _ test _ him, like some sort of sick exam, some sort of cruel game that the fucking Joker would have been delighted to dream up. Let's make the boy lose his mind, shall we? Let's make him see a  _ ghost_. Let's make him think that someone has dared to steal his dead girlfriend's costume and is using it for kicks and giggles. Let's just  _ all  _ betray him, like he hadn't been hurt enough already. 

What's that, Tim? You  _ trusted _ me, because I was your  _ mentor_, I was your  _Batman_? 

What a bad decision. You should never trust anybody. It'll only get you burned.  _ Robin should know better_. So he took the lesson, and learned. Robin would know better. After all, Tim was still Robin, and he would fucking remember his lessons  _ well_.

And like some sort of cosmic fucking joke, another way to keep the universe balanced, he got one person back, and lost someone else. But this was no fake death, no cute fucking charade, not a curtain pulled over his eyes. 

Tim wished to God it was. 

Instead, he had to live with knowing that Jack,  _ his father_, had died inside his own fucking home, where he should have been safe. 

Another death. Another one.  _ Another _ fucking death! 

How many of his people had to die? 

How many friends, how many family members did he have to sacrifice to this fucking cape? 

Should he start killing them himself, at the fucking Robin shrine in the cave? Bloody sacrifices to the suit of a once-dead boy, lay all his offerings on the altar of the uniform. Maybe then he'd stop losing people. 

Maybe it would hurt less if he did it himself.

But Tim picked himself back up, gathered up the tiny fragments of his spirit, and bundled them safely in his cape. He let Bruce adopt him, make him a  _ Wayne_, and thought maybe now he'd fit in properly, be a real part of the family, another dark-haired  _ orphan _ in the cape. Really, it was a wonder he hadn't seen Jack's death coming. Robin was an orphan's role, after all, wasn't it? 

Tim was  _ Robin_. And as long as he was Robin, he could cope. He had to cope. He couldn't afford  _ not _ to cope, because he had a job to do, and when there were lives on the line, he had no room to be flawed. Batman, Batman knew that, knew how to lock away his emotions so they didn't interfere with his work. Tim could do it too, would follow his example even if he no longer trusted him, because what else was Robin meant to do than follow and protect his Batman?

Then Batman,  _ Bruce_, died. And Tim wasn't there.

No, not 'died'. He wasn't dead. He  _ wasn't_. Bruce was out there, lost somewhere in the past, and Tim was the only one who knew, because  _ no one else believed him_. It was a good thing Bruce had such a loyal Robin, right? Who else but  _ Robin _ was going to watch Batman's back, come looking for him when all the odds were against them?

Except he wasn't Robin anymore.

Bruce wasn't Batman, and Tim wasn't Robin.

That was when it crystallized, when the knowledge went so glittery clear and bright. It shoved it's way to the forefront of his mind, derailing his spiral, putting itself in the fucking limelight. The thought hung there, a blood diamond stained with the reminder of loss. 

_ He wasn't Robin anymore. _

Dick had taken the cape, given it to a child who'd never done a thing to earn it, deserve it. 

_ He wasn't Robin anymore. _

Dick, of all the people, his  _ brother_, whom he'd trusted, who should have known what it felt like to have the cape ripped away from him, had stolen the uniform and given it to his would-be  _murderer_. 

_ He wasn't Robin anymore. _

He hadn't even warned him, just let him stumble into the cave believing things would still be okay, only to see the same boy who'd tried to shove him to a fatal fall, who'd cut his fucking grapple line, who was now wearing  _ his _ fucking cape. 

Twice,  _ twice_, Damian had attempted to drop Tim from a height he couldn't get back up from.

Twice,  _ twice_, Dick had ignored it.

He'd just smoothed it over, said Tim was fine, that he'd be okay, that he hadn't died so  _ no harm done_. Dick, whose parents had fallen to their own deaths. Did he not even care that Tim might have died exactly the same way, been the same type of broken corpse on the ground? He mustn't have, because he'd given Tim's cape to Damian anyway. 

_ He wasn't Robin anymore.  _

The diamond hung there, glittering, in the front of his mind. Beautiful, bloody, priceless, worthless... 

...It shattered. 

Tim wasn't Robin anymore. He'd never be Robin again. The last piece of safety, the last piece of surety, the last relic of a boy who'd once believed in heroes. 

_ Gone. _

No wonder it had felt like something physical had snapped,  any and all emotional supports that he'd managed to cling to, the only lifelines left supporting him, they'd been cut. He'd been hanging on by a thread and the fates had seen clear to snip that last little bit of security away.

So be it.

He let go of everything that had been keeping his coldly logical side in check. 

First, Bruce  _ was _ alive. He knew it down to the very marrow of his bones. It didn't matter that no one believed him. That they all thought he was crazy. He was the natural detective out of all the Robins, the  _ smart _ one, the one who was most like Bruce out of all of them. Shouldn't they have given him the benefit of the doubt due to that? 

Of course not. 

The fact that he'd figured out Robin's identity, then logically extrapolated that conclusion to deduce Batman's as well at the mere age of nine apparently meant nothing. The sheer volume of cases he'd solved on his own when no other Robin had been afforded so much freedom to work on their own? Also apparently nothing. 

No, because  _ Superman _ had said Bruce was gone, Dick took it as gospel. As far as he was concerned, the case was closed.

It wasn't.

Bruce was alive and lost in time. 

Tim knew he was right and by all that was holy, he was going to  _ prove it.  _

He'd hacked into the Watchtower to read their reports on what had happened and it clicked. It had taken too long, and there was too much left of Bruce — who for all his larger-than-life presence was still only human — after Darksied had used the Omega Beams on him. Star Labs had tipped him off to the timestream aspect. It had been a very small entry and almost totally buried amongst their vast amounts of information, but it was enough to push him into grasping that Darkseid hadn't used the Omega Effect, but another ability. 

One that left the clues to back up his theory of Bruce being stranded in the timestream. 

Or at least for Bruce to leave the clues for them to find. Tim tried to show what he'd found to Dick, but no. Obviously he was insane with grief, and not thinking clearly. The fact that Dick believed that he was incapable of functioning because he'd lost so much showed just how much of a detective Dick  _ wasn't _ lately, because Tim had been functioning just fine after every  _ other _ loss he'd experienced. Why would this one be any different? 

Because it was  _ Bruce_? 

Bruce, who wasn't actually dead? 

God, Dick was such a fucking hypocrite.  _ He _ was the one who wasn't capable of functioning while Bruce wasn't there. Just look at what he'd done recently! He'd already made a major error in judgement, by making Damian  _ Robin_. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating. How was he supposed to be responsible for the city or control the demon-brat, if he couldn't take care of himself? 

It was sad. Dick used to be the most well-adjusted one of their lot. The happy one, the one they all looked up to. He'd been Tim's first hero, his hope, everything that he had aspired to be. They say you shouldn't meet your heroes — all too often they have feet of clay. 

It hurt to see him like this. He wouldn't listen to the truth. 

So be it. Dick would fly or fall on his own, or maybe the gremlin would cut  _ his _ line instead. Tim had more important things to do.

Now he just needed to find more clues and get Bruce back. Then when Bruce returned home — because he  _ would _ succeed in this — everyone else would just have to eat crow. He hoped they choked on the black feathers.

But before he left on his quest to find the rest of the clues, Tim let the contingencies he'd thought of so long ago rise to the surface of his mind and unspool.

He could 'clean house,' so to speak.

Jason was  _ right_.

Just playing the catch and release game with the likes of Joker, or Two-Face, or any of the other Rogues was a fool's game. Endlessly handing them off to the dubious care of Arkham, where the state would pretend they were giving them  _ treatment_, pretend they were  _ contained_, when really all they had ever done was give the Rogues more time to plan. 

Now that he knew that none of the damn Bats had his back at all, he could operate outside of their Mission Parameters. A small vicious smile quirked at his lips, one that anyone who'd known Janet Drake would recognize. It was the same smile that had crossed her lips when she was about to absolutely destroy someone's day. Or life.

If Dick and Damian didn't want him to be a Wayne, then Tim wouldn't be one. He'd be a  _ Drake_.

The Drakes had succeeded in a cut-throat industry for so long because they were ruthless. Or rather, because  _ Janet _ was ruthless. She had known that there was no room for  _ sentiment_, no room for wishy-washy  _ emotions_, no room for the naiveté of untempered  _ idealism_. No, Janet Drake had done whatever she needed to do to achieve their goals. It was time for Tim to do the same.

Everyone had always said he was truly his mother's son. It was time to embrace it.


	2. Chapter 2

(Wordcount: 4349)

It was well into the darkest part of the night when Tim arrived at Arkham. 

He perched in a place that ensured he would not be noticed, no matter who or what might be looking, and took a moment to just _breathe._ This was his last chance to reconsider before moving forward with his plans. Did he want to do this? Was this really a path he could tread? Did he want to be a Drake again or remain a Wayne? A choice between Janet's ruthless practicality or Bruce's cold idealism. Could he really choose his dead family's ideals over the living?

It would diverge his path from the Bats forever, if he moved forward. He'd never be able to return, even after he returned Bruce to where he should be. He'd tried so hard to be a good son, a good _Robin,_ for Bruce, but how could he let this stand? 

So many lives, gone, because Bruce wouldn't let any of these bastards die. How many people had the Joker killed? How many of them had died after Jason did? How many of them had died after Bruce had chosen to save Joker rather than kill him when Jason forced him to choose? Tim had been Batman's Robin, and he'd followed him — but had Batman ever been truly right about this line in the sand?

If he does this, uncounted innocents will live, never knowing that they might have one day died at a Rogue's hand.

If he did this, he'd no longer be a Bat, never be Bruce's son again.

Could he let his selfishness outweigh innocent lives anymore?

No. Jason had been right all this time. He'd told them — again and again — how the Bats weren't actually doing any real good in the city, not in the long run. The cost-benefit ratio was so far unbalanced on one side of the line, and Tim had ignored that for so long because he was selfish, because he'd wanted to keep his _family._ He was done being selfish.

They had to die.

Tim mentally went over his equipment. The generic black silks he wore over his body armour were snugly tied, making certain that there was no way he would leave any evidence behind. Check. The plain black domino on his face was linked to the wrist computer in his gauntlets, and it was operating properly, giving him the heads-up display he needed to pull this self-appointed mission off. Check. He'd even made certain that his hair was tucked away in a skullcap, leaving no chance for any DNA evidence to be exploited. Check. The gun loaded with hollow-point 45s. Check. Anti-materiel rifle strapped to his back. Check. 

Janet had always said to be prepared for any situation that might arise, and Tim had learned this lesson well. 

Yes, he was set. Ready. It was time to move on with the meticulous plan he'd worked out after using the backdoor link he had long ago placed into the Bat-computer. He linked to Arkham's security protocols, looped the cameras, and made his window.

Go time.

Once he took down the electronic system, the physical security measures were dealt with easily enough. The guards were clearly overconfident, slack and not overly vigilant, which made it easy to render them unconscious quickly and quietly before they could raise any alarms. No wonder the Rogues waltzed in and out of Arkham — this was just pathetic, really.

Tim made his way to his first target, the Joker. He'd made his plan under the assumption he'd have to bail before he could finish his list, and so ordered it accordingly. 

Worst to least.

So many of the more violent Rogues were actually in Arkham for once, which made his self-appointed task easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel. It gave him a momentary pang, to think of killing people with no defences — but these people had never given innocents the courtesy of defending themselves. No, the Rogues needed to die, even if they were locked away right now, because everyone in Gotham knew they wouldn't stay there for long. And if, _when,_ they got out, they'd show no mercy. So Tim would treat them accordingly. 

The cells in Arkham weren't like cells in a regular jail; they were clear plexiglas on a central hinge that needed at least two guards working in tandem to open. The only similarity to a regular jail cell was the feeding slot leading to a tray support on the inmate's side. This was the opening Tim exploited.

The Joker saw him and started to bray that peculiar and irritating laugh he was so famous for. "Who are you supposed to be? A new little bat or bird, come to play with little old me?"

_Tim wasn't Robin anymore._

Tim didn't bother answering the insane clown. He just opened the waist height feeding slot on Joker's cell and aimed the silenced gun he'd brought through it towards the head of the madman sitting on his prison-issue bed. A muffled gunshot, a neat hole in the Joker's forehead, while the much messier exit wound had his brains decorating the back of his cell. Tim winced at how easy it was. At pulling the trigger and taking another person's life. He'd made his choice, no going back on it now. 

_He was his mother's son._

One down, he thought grimly. Too many to go. They'd all lived far past their time.

_Jason was right._

Tim moved forward with his plan, implacable and resolute. Next up, Harvey Dent. The very first villain he'd fought as Robin, back when he'd worn a borrowed suit and the role wasn't officially his yet. Bruce had a soft spot for his old buddy Harvey. He really did believe that maybe one day Harvey could be saved, that he'd go back to _normal._ Like all the lives Two-Face had taken would mean nothing if Harvey Dent was in control, because _Harvey_ didn't do that, did he? _Two-Face_ did. Like they weren't the same person. 

When Tim appeared in front of Dent's cell, he didn't even give the man a chance to do anything other than sit up from where he'd been reclining on his bed. Dent's startled "What?" cut off when the second bullet of the night drilled through his right eye. The splatter of the exit wound wasn't quite as messy as before since the force of the shot had pushed Dent back down to his bed where his pillow caught the majority of the mess.

Two.

_Tim wasn't Robin anymore._

Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, was third on his list. Tim wondered if the man who knew no fear would finally understand the terror he so casually inflicted on so many when the bullet was speeding his way. It almost made him want to not use the gun, to use something slower that would still ensure a guaranteed death. 

But no, that wasn't the point of this, was it? He wasn't here to school them, he was here to _end_ them. 

It was a moot point anyway as the man was already asleep when Tim arrived at his cell, curled up with his head tucked forward and pillow wrapped around his ears. That made getting an easy kill shot a bit harder. He managed, but was displeased to see how much of a mess the shot through the chest made when the opposite side of the man's rib cage exploded with the exit wound.

Three.

_He was his mother's son._

Tim was getting antsy — navigating between all these cells was beginning to make him feel like a rat running a maze. Thankfully Zsasz and Penguin were the next two on his list, and their cells were side by side. It made taking care of them quick work. Two shots, two more wastes of space dead.

Four and five.

_Jason was right._

Tim checked the time, and decided that he really only had enough to get one last Rogue — Killer Croc. He holstered the handgun, and drew the rifle from his back as he made his way to his final lethal target of the night. Victor Fries's specialized cell was on the way to Killer Croc's, and he remembered that Freeze had been on his list of people to warn, to give one last chance to, and so he paused. 

The man was awake and waiting for him. Obviously, someone had heard the gunshots, even if it wasn't the guards. 

"Come to shoot me, too?" Freeze took a careful offhand tone, attempting to hide the thread of fear that laced through his voice. It didn't work.

"I'm not here to kill you. Yet." 

Freeze's eyes widened, just slightly. "Robin?"

_Tim wasn't Robin anymore._

"I'm not Robin anymore." Tim's voice was almost as arctic cold as Freeze's cell, and it made the warning he delivered so much more believable and terrifying. "I don't care what you do while you search for Nora's cure, but this is your only warning. If you harm any more innocents then your quest will be over forever."

_He was his mother's son._

"Why now? After all this time?"

"Unimportant." Freeze didn't deserve to know. "Be careful, Freeze, because I'm sure if I don't come back for you, Red Hood will."

_Jason was right._

He moved on, ignoring Fries's increasingly desperate questions. He'd had his warning. Tim had done his duty here. Now he just had to finish the Arkham stage of his self-assigned task. He had a Croc to kill. 

* * *

First step implemented and done. Now, he was back at his personal Command Center to get ready for the next phase of his plan. Tim shed the black silks and skullcap, disposing of them in his on-site incinerator — they were no longer needed and holding on to them would only cause him grief in the future. That done, he walked over to where he'd stashed his new uniform. 

He let his lips curve into a sardonic smile as he looked at it. The very first time he'd gone out as Robin, it had been in Jason's suit, going to save Bruce. It was only fitting, really, that he'd start the next phase of his life in another one of Jason's suits to save Bruce again. The irony was priceless, frankly. Bruce had never wanted Tim to be Robin, had never wanted anyone to follow Jason; he certainly wouldn't want him to follow Jason's footsteps once again. 

It was unlikely that Jason would like it, either, but that was okay. Jason hadn't liked Tim as Robin, but despite all his threats and attacks, he had done it anyway. It didn't matter what Jason would do now. Tim would do this anyway.

He glanced at his main screen and saw he had missed calls from Ives, Bard, Cassie, Oracle, and Alfred. None from Dick, which meant that none of the calls contained the apology he deserved.

"Delete all."

There was nothing he was interested in hearing them say. Not now. Not anymore at any rate, not since he didn't think any of them would be too happy with him at the moment. Not after what he'd just finished doing. Not with what he planned on doing. He opened the chest holding the Red Robin suit he'd liberated from Jason.

This was going to suck. 

There was a reason that they tailored their suits, and only the smallest part was for vanity. Thank all the gods that Jason hadn't really hit his growth spurt until after he'd had this suit made. Tim hated to think what he would have looked like in a Red Robin suit made for Jason now — like a little kid playing dress up in his Big Brother's clothes. 

Not a good look for anyone, let alone for someone trying to look intimidating. Or for him to try to fight in, for that matter.

He got dressed and as he adjusted the cowl he said, "Computer, activate Icarus Protocol, five minutes." 

No need to let any of the nosy people he used to claim as family have an easy way to follow him, was there? If they tried to get into his computer now, it would flash fry any and all information.

[[Acknowledged.]]

A noise slightly behind him, like someone was trying to sneak up on him. He lashed out with a powerful back kick, catching whoever it was in the solar plexus and launching them into some empty boxes. A small kindness; even if only to make sure they would be able to answer questions. He turned to find out who had invaded his sanctuary, the one place no one was supposed to know about.

Spoiler. 

"Hnnngh, ow."

"Stephanie."

She pushed back her hood. A little line of drool slipped from her mouth and Tim felt a bit guilty. A bit, but not enough to regret kicking her. She should have known better than to try and sneak up on him.

"That… huah… that… okay, I think I'm gonna barf…"

Still not feeling guilty. 

"How did you find this place?"

Steph didn't answer his question, instead she asked, "Are you going to help me up?" He didn't move so much as a muscle. "Okay then." She hauled herself painfully to her feet. "You forget, I _know_ you, Tim. You thought Batman was going crazy, so you built a new 'Command Center'."

Tim didn't want to think about how little Steph actually knew him. If she'd known him so well, they why play along with Batman when he asked her to? Why would someone who _knew_ him betray him like she had? He turned away from her and walked to his computer. "You know what? I don't even want to know."

"Tim, please… Will you just _look_ at me? You said you were going to leave town, but you have to talk to _someone._ " 

He didn't. 

"No. However you know about this place, it's just another reason I can't trust you. Just like I still can't trust you to wear that _costume._ Good-bye, Steph."

"I'm worried about you, Tim, please… Everyone is worried about you. Will you just stop!" She reached out to grab his arm and turn him to face her. 

Tim caught her wrist before she could touch him and rounded on her. He pulled her close by that gripped wrist, not caring as she winced in pain, and snarled into her face. " _Everyone_ is worried about me, Steph? Dick sent you, didn't he? If you really cared about me, you'd come to _me._ You wouldn't _lie_ to me, you wouldn't _spy_ on me for my friends. You'd _listen_ to me. All I ever wanted to do since we met was _help_ you-"

"Tim, I'm sorry alright, but Dick's _right_ to be worried about you. Just look at you! _Talk_ to me, you don't have to be _alone!_ "

Tim let go of her wrist and began climbing the ladder to head out again. He called dismissively over his shoulder, "I wish I could talk to you, Steph. You don't know how much I wish that." 

"Tim? Where are you going, Tim?"

"Don't follow me, Steph." 

It sounded like she was going to follow him anyway except her comm started going nuts until she finally answered it. He waited just out of sight to listen in. "Spoiler ... Arkham slaughter? .... What? ... No, I didn't have my comm on, I was talking to Tim … No, he's not listening … Not talking either … Yeah, not much else I can do here, I'll be there in about ten … I really don't think so, he's already gone." She signed off and sighed. 

Tim took advantage of the time it would take her to resituate her cowl to climb out of his Command Center and disappear. He smirked. Even though Steph had betrayed him just as badly as Dick, she was still unwittingly helping his cause. 

It was always nice to have an alibi, after all.

* * *

Tim glanced at the time. If he was going to meet Lucius at seven a.m. to sign papers, making sure that his and Bruce's absence wouldn't leave a vacuum of power to be exploited at Wayne Tech, he was going to have to pick up the pace. It had taken far too long to find Ivy in her maze of a hideout, and now he was behind schedule. He'd managed to get Harley at the same time as Ivy— a definite bonus. Catching them in flagrante delicto was certainly not something he was going to forget in a hurry, for more than one reason. He flinched as another thorn he'd missed pinched him. At any rate, he was behind.

He still had a Cat to catch.

But that soon proved to be moot as she caught him instead.

"Robin!" The yell caught his attention while making his teeth ache from the tight clench at the same time.

_He wasn't Robin anymore._

"Catwoman." Tim waited for her to get closer. "Red Robin is a more accurate name these days."

Selina was panting lightly as she came to a rest near him. "Red Robin then. I've been hearing some very disturbing things about you tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Ivy and Harley got in touch with me, and Eddie not long after them. They said you'd threatened their lives? Politely, but terrifying all the same. Harley said something too, about you assuring her that she would never have to worry about the Joker ever again?" 

"Sounds about right."

Selina stared at him, obviously at a loss.

"Do you see anything affiliated with Batman, or any other hero, anywhere on my suit?"

"No."

"Do you understand what that means?"

Selina was starting to look disturbed. "I think I might be beginning to, now."

Tim smiled grimly. Yeah, he was sure the gossip chain amongst the Rogues was working at full speed now. Good. Just like he had intended — they were really getting his message and spreading it faster than he could have dreamed of, if he had done it entirely alone. He just hoped they didn't fall back into bad habits while he was away. The red in his suit was really the only red he wanted to wear.

"Good. Then I guess you have your answer."

Selina began to back away slowly. "I suppose I do."

"Don't worry, Selina, you were never on my list." His voice was gentle and he smiled at her sweetly, which oddly seemed to ratchet up her fright even more. "You've never killed anyone, and as far as I know you have no plans to start. Right?"

"No, absolutely no plans at all to ever kill anyone, ever." She saw something over his shoulder and nodded. "Someone else is here to talk to you so I'll just go, okay?"

Tim waved as she left and then turned to face… Jason. 

Well, weren't the two of them helpful. Jason had been the last person on his list to visit tonight.

"Hood." He greeted him affably with a nod. 

Jason approached with his usual lazy gait, a jungle cat on the prowl, secure in his place at the top of the chain. There was a reason most of the Rogues didn't go near the Red Hood. He was one of the apex predators in Gotham, and unlike Batman, he never pulled his punches. 

Today, while he didn't give off any obvious tells, there was something different about him. There was a certain wariness in his gaze, caution warring with an uneasy respect. Clearly, Jason had also heard the news.

"Replacement," came the insultingly cordial greeting. "Although I've heard that title might best be applied to someone else now."

No, Jason never pulled his punches, and he knew how to hit where it _hurt._

_Tim was his mother's son._

He drew on every lesson Janet had ever drilled into him about maintaining courtesy, keeping up appearances, and refused to give Jason the satisfaction of seeing the barb sink in.

"Perhaps," Tim returned evenly. "Did you have a reason for seeking me out, Hood?" It wasn't like he didn't already know Jason's reasons, but it would be better not to antagonise the former Robin. He'd let him frame this conversation. And by doing that, he'd let Jason tell him exactly where he stood.

"I heard a little rumour on the grapevine, kid. An interesting one. Apparently, someone broke into Arkham and took out some of the worst of the worst. Real meticulous about it, they were too." Jason gazed steadily at him, and Tim couldn't help but feel like he was being evaluated. 

But where the judgement once would have made him afraid, he found he no longer much cared what Jason thought. He'd either respect him, or he wouldn't. But Tim was done living up to a memory.

"Is that so? I wouldn't have taken you as one to listen to gossip."

A short laugh, made eerie by the mechanical filter in the helmet. "Shows what you know, kid," he drawled. "Gossip's the best way to hear anything in this town. People just don't know when to keep their mouths shut." 

"Oh, I knew, I just didn't think you did."

"I'm a lot of things, but regardless of what the Bat might have thought, I ain't stupid. You think I became a crime lord by being a fuckwit?" Jason shook his head. "That's beside the point. I went looking for more info, after hearing that interesting little whisper. And what I found was just… strange, really.

"A perfect break in. All the electronic security disabled, perfectly looped cameras, guards knocked out without ever seeing anyone. Not many people could do that kind of job so neatly. The kind of training you need to make it so quick and easy… well, it's a select group of people who've got those skills. It's enough to make a man _curious._ "

Well, he'd put it together fast. Jason certainly wasn't stupid.

Tim decided to concede the point. "It's understandable, to be curious. It _is_ an interesting puzzle. It's almost like someone had been listening to you talk… someone who previously never had cause or opportunity. I mean really, who would be crazy enough?"

Another one of those eerie mechanical laughs. It was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He understood now why so many of the people who met the Red Hood were so unnerved, up to and including the ones Hood would never hurt. Even when he wasn't actively hunting you, there was nothing about him to make a person feel anything but on edge.

"Crazy, huh, kid?" he murmured. "Crazy indeed. Big Bird's had some choice words about you recently, and I'm starting to think he's on to something. As usual though, he's only noticed part of the story, and then put together the few pieces he has entirely wrong."

Tim went still at the mention of Dick. 

Jason noticed, and decided to press on the bruise he'd found. "Yeah, Nightwing's been saying all kinds of things. He's _worried_ about you, you know?" The words were sneered out. "Wouldn't it be nice if he was ever worried about the right things? But no, he only ever worries when it's far too late to matter."

Tim sneered in return. "Yeah, he's so worried he thinks I need a vacation in Arkham."

It was Jason's turn to go still. Then, to Tim's shock, his hands went to the back of his head and removed his helmet. He wasn't wearing a domino and the weight of those eyes was somehow heavier when Tim could see them, ocean blue tinged by sickly green. 

"Dickiebird's always so eager to put people in Arkham, isn't he? It's like he thinks they actually try to _help_ people there, like it isn't just a joke, a mockery of an institution." Jason's laughter was rough and hollow, without the helmet. Somehow, it was almost more creepy with no filter to mask it.

Tim pushed back his cowl to meet Jason's eyes. Where there had once been hatred, there was now nothing but grudging acceptance. They both knew they were bitter and dark inside, twisted by everything the universe had thrown at them. They were nothing like the bright golden boy Dick was even after being in the cape longer than he'd ever been _normal._ They gazed at each other for a minute, studying each other, minute tells being read to say more than they ever would with words.

Jason nodded like Tim had told him everything he wanted to know. "Well, kid, it's been an _enlightening_ chat," he smirked. "I guess we have more in common than I'd thought." He slid his helmet back over his head, pulling out his grapple in preparation to leave. "Catch you on the flipside, if you don't get yourself killed while hunting for Bruce. Can't say I understand why you're looking — we're better off without him, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask."

"Clearly," Hood laughed. He made his way to the edge of the building, turning to speak once more at the very last moment. "I ain't ever gonna say it again, but thanks. I'd say I owe you one for getting rid of that monster, but since you're wearing another one of my stolen suits, I'll settle for not killing you instead." With that, he was gone.

Tim took a deep, slightly unsteady breath. Dealing with the Red Hood was like walking through a minefield. He never knew which footstep would set the man off. For once though, he'd managed to navigate his way successfully, and his reward was a new understanding and an unshaking certainty.

_Jason was right._

Another deep breath, much more even. He still had a meeting with Lucius to keep, before he could leave Gotham, and finally stop wasting any more time. But business was something he could navigate in his sleep, so all his attention was turned towards his next task.

A few more hours. Then he'd be going to find Bruce.


	3. Part Three

(Wordcount: 7423)

It was Tim's last night in his Paris hotel room, getting back into the Red Robin costume after catching a quick nap, when he noticed a reflection from a nearby rooftop. Odds were likely it was a scope from a high powered rifle. Tuning in his parabolic mics to the rooftop in question, he was darkly amused to hear the conversation taking place as he finished dressing. 

Oh dear, someone wanted him dead… again… whatever would he do?

A male voice was saying, "Master, do you want him dead? I see... "

A brash female voice interrupted. "What? What'd he say?"

The same male voice as before answered her, "He said we could try."

Female again, with a lot more indignation than Tim thought was warranted. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

The first voice again, sounding a lot more tired. "Do you have the shot?"

A second male voice languidly answered, "Close enough."

That was his cue to clear out. He grabbed his bag and ducked out the far window, very glad he did when his hotel room exploded. Well, fuck. He definitely wasn't getting his deposit back now. But it did put him in a good position to hear the rest of their conversation with his bare ears while he snuck up on them. 

"Huh, I thought a real-life superhero would be harder to kill or something. No wonder Batman's dead. His backup is _crap_." Tim was going to _hurt_ her.

"We'll wait for the body to be pulled out. Stake out the morgue, then collect his head," said the first male voice, and Tim could appreciate his professionalism. He didn't necessarily appreciate it was his supposed body that they were talking about, but he could approve of the man's no-nonsense work ethic. It was hard to find nowadays.

He cut off the second male, the one he guessed fired the bullet that lost him his safety deposit, while he was saying, "The Master will — ugh!" 

Tim's precisely aimed grapple shot did both things he intended. Hit and take out the one with the most dangerous weapon first, and second, gave him the leverage to swing feet first to try and take out the highly professional one. Unfortunately, the pro wasn't so easily dealt with. Ah well, one out of two wasn't bad. 

While defending himself from the trio — even if he'd only tangled with two so far — he ran it down in his mind.

His cover was blown. Three assailants, two male, one female. The girl seemed oddly untrained compared to the other two. Strange. She was also very mouthy.

"You're freaking dead!"

Three on one wasn't great odds, but even with how well trained two of them seemed, it was hardly the worst odds he'd ever faced. Then Tim noticed the shooter was back up. Fuck. He hoped he'd gotten better enough with the throwing discs, he'd certainly trashed a lot of hotel rooms across Europe while practicing with them. He took a chance, but the gunman used it like it was a skeet clay pigeon.

"Whoa." Okay, that was a good shot.

Then he was diving away from the pro when the girl reared up with two heavy machine guns and opened fire yelling, "Die!"

Tim evaded while frantically gathering information. He'd already caught what the three called each other: Zee for the pro, Owens for the gunman, and as for the girl; well, the girl's parents had really missed their mark in calling her Prudence. Shaking away the frivolous thought, he concentrated on what he knew. They had targeted him on purpose, him the hero, not him the rich American. There weren't a lot of people who knew who he was under the mask. Most of them were bad.

Pru was closing in on him still yelling, "...going to shoot out your eyes! You hear me?"

God, he would have to be deaf not to hear her. He kicked her in the nose, breaking it in one place, and relieved her of a gun.

"You broke my sodding nose!"

He took control of her arm holding the remaining machine gun. "You're trying to _kill_ me with a submachine gun. You're lucky I don't break your _neck_." 

Tim used it to aim her heavy trigger finger at her companions. Damn. They scattered as he fired. He then elbowed her in the face, breaking her nose again in another place to wrest the second gun off her. Then he was facing Z again. Shit. 

He was not looking forward to fighting the guy, he really was a pro — and he had trigger happy backup. 

Then something odd happened, Z broke away from the fight and backed off.

"Master?"

He made some motions to the other two and they too stood down. Tim was wary, what was happening? What were they doing? Some scrambling by Owens where he stood behind the other two had Tim realizing exactly what was going on, they were retreating! No! 

He didn't have any more time to react before the flash grenade Owens had set up went off, blinding and deafening him long enough for them to disappear. Double shit.

"I am so screwed."

"Language, Timothy." 

What? He looked around and saw where the disembodied voice was coming from, a bulky comm unit. It was Ra's al Ghul's voice, so now he knew the trio he had been fighting were from the League of Assassins. Great. "I hold you to a higher standard, given your Master. I've been watching you, Timothy. I'd like to have a conversation."

Tim pocketed the device in silence, refusing to answer him.. What did Ra's know? Or think he knew? At this point, the entire Gotham underworld knew that he'd turned on the Bats, so this couldn't be a coincidence. 

He needed time to think. Travelling to Berlin would hopefully give him enough.

* * *

His task in Berlin done, Tim sat only half dressed on the floor in his hotel room, thinking. Did he really want to be in cahoots with the Demon's Head? He'd already accepted the help from the merry 'Assassin's Three'. Them calling him 'Boss' didn't help matters.

But his last stop was in Iran, not exactly the easiest of places to get in and out of, especially for an American. Was having Ra's assist him really worth it?

Yeah, the ancient bastard said he believed him about Bruce being alive. That he had been watching him the whole time. But Tim knew he also had to have another angle to work. The man never did _anything_ without layers and layers of reasons. 

The offer though was amazing. 

Access to a worldwide network of informants, unlimited resources, and the ability to get anything he could need or want, legal or otherwise. It was a bit late in the game, but all the same tempting. Very tempting. 

But what was the price he'd have to pay? He didn't believe for a second that it could just be the knowledge of Bruce's final fate like he'd said. Batman was a painful thorn in his side, so Tim was positive that he was on the right train of thought. What was he really after? And yes, he knew that his soul was tarnished beyond repair with his recent actions, but how much more of it was he willing to lose if he accepted the living antique's help?

There had to be a way to play this to his own advantage, he mused. Ra's, while ancient and extremely dangerous, wasn't infallible. 

Tim was sure the old man had heard about the so-called 'Arkham Massacre', but he didn't think anyone but Jason and the remaining Rogues knew who was responsible for it. There was a possibility Ra's hadn't found that out yet. Keeping that in mind, he should also still be operating on the assumption that Tim was hesitant to kill, due to his stipulations to the trio at the museum. That assessment was only partially correct. He wasn't about to kill anyone innocent, but no-one in the League of Assassins could truly claim they were completely _innocent_. If he had to fight his way out later, there was no reason to hold back. Besides, by accepting the deal, he might learn something useful about the League to turn against them later.

_He wasn't Robin anymore_.

And beyond that, while Tim didn't strictly _need_ the help, it would definitely make this phase of the plan run much more smoothly. Trying to shake the assassins off would only delay his search further, while accepting could accelerate his progress immensely. He still didn't know Ra's's motives for offering his help, but he could work around that. Gathering information would be much easier if he was a part of their group rather than an outsider, regardless.

_He was his mother's son._

Mind made up, he put the comm up to his ear. "I'll accept your offer, Ra's," he said evenly.

"Excellent decision, Detective," Ra's purred. Tim did his best to contain a shiver of disgust. "I'm sure we'll work well together."

Yeah, they'd work well together, until they didn't. But he would be prepared for when that happened, and he'd make them pay accordingly. Right now, however, he still had to find his last clue on Bruce, and this was the most efficient way to do it.

He'd deal with Ra's after that was done. One way or another.

* * *

Finally, he'd made it. _The_ cave. The place that his entire quest had been leading to. Or more correctly, heading outward from, as all the clues he'd been gathering had started from what was found in this cave. It was the ultimate beginning of Bruce's jaunt through time.

He'd come all this way, overcome so many obstacles, fought so many battles to prove that he was right. And he was right. Now he had undeniable proof, so that even Dick and the Justice League would be forced to _listen_ to him, like they should have done in the first place. So much time had been wasted on this quest, just because _Dick_ and _Superman_ were incapable of believing themselves wrong, because they hadn't been willing to believe in him. 

After everything he'd done. After every battle he'd fought for them. After every time he had stood by Dick's side, every time he had believed in _him_. After all that, and Dick hadn't wanted to listen. No, he'd said Tim was crazy and insane with grief instead.

He would show him grief. When Dick realised he was wrong, he'd have to live the rest of his life knowing that if it had been up to him, Bruce would have been abandoned. Dick was the first Robin. Robin had always believed in — protected — Batman. And Dick had _failed_.

But he hadn't failed. He hadn't given up. He'd done what Robin was meant to do, and looked beyond the simple proof to find real evidence.

_He wasn't Robin anymore._

Tim contained a flinch. It was like taking a blow to the chest, every time he remembered. That was another one of Dick's failings, though. Another reason why he needed to bring Bruce back. Dick wasn't fit to wear the cowl. He'd never be detective enough in Bruce's absence, never be logical enough. Always so fucking emotional. Gotham wouldn't make it with someone like Dick in the suit, especially not with the damned demon-brat as his Robin. 

None of that would change if he didn't get this evidence delivered. Making his way to the cave entrance, Z asked him, "How do you feel, Tim Drake?" 

Tim looked down at his attendant assassins and just smiled.

"He smiles. Well, that's just bloody brilliant. We get some kind of bonus for this, right?" Pru complained.

Z was about to answer her when a sword suddenly emerged from his chest. He stared at it in disbelief as the light drained from his eyes. Tim shared that disbelief. What fresh hell was this? Was it something about him? That anyone who spent time with him died? Then, as Z's body fell in death his murderer was revealed.

"Assassins… I am The Widower. Please, try to put up a fight."

"Owens! Pru! Move!" 

Tim ran as fast as he could, but he wasn't quick enough. He could only watch as Owens was damn near decapitated by one of the blades wielded by the Widower. 

Pru was lighter and faster, she was at least able to get further out of range, but she still had a nasty slice carved into the side of her neck. She fell to the ground and didn't move except to put pressure on her neck and slow the bleeding. Smart girl. Although it wasn't going to help much if he didn't get there in time. 

Not slowing down his headlong rush he engaged one of the Widower's swords with his bo staff as soon as he got close enough, blocking him from finishing Pru off. "No!" 

The Widower grinned in glee. "You were not on my list, assassin. All the better… a wild card." As soon as he finished speaking he shoved his second sword into Tim's gut. 

"Hnng." Fuck, that hurt. Really hurt. And it was about to hurt even more. 

Tim braced himself and then yanked the sword out. He was about to vivisect the man with his own weapon when a thought crossed his mind.

He couldn't. 

He couldn't kill this asshole, not yet. If he killed now, while under Ra's's power… It would be disastrous. No, he still needed Ra's to underestimate him, as risky as that was considering the circumstances. Instead, he swung wildly and let the Widower dance out of the sword's way. 

The Widower didn't seem to care that Tim had one of his swords as he backed away, speaking in a creepily happy tone. "The Council of Spiders thanks you for your participation in the game." Then he was gone.

Shit. Damn. Fuck! That unexpected encounter didn't help at all. Tim sighed heavily as he grabbed some pressure bandages out of one of his bandolier capsules to try and keep his blood inside where it did him the most good. Pulling that sword out of his own gut had done a lot of damage, and he didn't know how long he was going to last. 

He crawled over the few feet to where Pru lay and grabbed some more gauze out of the next capsule to do his best to wrap her neck. Struggling to his feet, he managed to help Pru to hers. 

As they stagger-stepped in tandem over to the jeep, Tim glanced mournfully over at Z and Owens. He knew he was in no shape to bring their bodies with them, so he regretfully left them where they lay. 

When they got to the jeep, he put Pru into the driver's seat.

She snapped out of it. "What?" 

"You're going to have to get us back. I'm losing too much blood and I don't think I'll last much longer." She sagged in the seat as Tim carefully worked his way around to the passenger side. "Just get us to the hotel and after that you're good to go."

She got them rolling and Tim remembered the comm he'd stuck in one of his capsules. If he could get that out, maybe he could get the help they'd need to survive. It took a bit of finagling, but he soon had it in hand. He was just putting it up to his ear when the jeep hit a nasty bump. Pru grimaced through the pain it caused her.

But it was too much for him. Tim faintly heard Ra's's voice as the world went black.. "Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy? ...Timothy?"

* * *

Tim snapped back to awareness with a vivid green haze over his eyes, his chest bursting with the need to breathe. He surged upwards, breaking through the surface of the water. Gasping in some precious air, he was strangely aware of his own body, the blood rushing through his veins a distinct feeling rather than an unconscious function. It was… invigorating.

He rolled to his feet, acidic lime coloured liquid dripping from his skin. Glancing down at himself, he stilled.

There was no wound in his stomach. Not even a scar.

How…?

Another second, and clarity rushed back to him. He inhaled sharply.

A Lazarus Pit.

Tim made a second, more thorough evaluation of himself. Unfortunately, he'd somehow lost all his clothes at some point, but it allowed him to see that not a single scar marred his skin, old aches and distant pains he hadn't even noticed before suddenly obvious because of their absence. Was this what it was like to be normal? Is this what he would have always felt like, unhurt and relaxed, had he never pushed himself into Bruce's world? 

"Detective." Ra's's voice rolled smoothly out across the pit. 

Tim was careful to give no reaction, cursing himself for being so carelessly distracted. He gave himself a second to do one last evaluation — this time, of his mind. Despite his apparent soak in the pit, his thoughts felt normal. Or what passed as normal these days. Did Jason think his thought processes were normal too when he came out of these waters?

He wasn't sure, but the fact his faculties felt the same certainly gave him an advantage the older man wouldn't be expecting. 

Tim noted abruptly that he was still standing in the Lazarus Pit, the slightly gelatinous waters still moving after his rather violent awakening. The unnatural liquid lapped at his thighs, feeling both freezing cold and burning hot. He wasn't quite sure how he hadn't noticed before. 

Ah well, he'd never been at his best after waking without a cup or two of coffee. 

He started to wade out of the acid green waters like he was exiting a pool at the spa. When he was a few feet from where Ra's stood, he took a deep, steady breath, lifted his gaze, and met the eyes of the Demon's Head. "So. That was refreshing. Any chance I could get some coffee?"

There was a moment where Ra's was visibly startled, before he schooled his features to blankness once more. He lifted a hand, gestured, and someone quietly slipped out of the room. Then he returned his full attention to Tim. "Detective? Are you feeling alright?"

"I'll be better once I get that coffee." He contained a smirk. Although Ra's hadn't shown any other outward reactions after that first moment of shock, he could tell this wasn't what the man had expected. No, where Ra's had expected him to be unbalanced, instead _he_ was the one on unsteady ground, and Tim had no intention of letting him find his footing.

The coffee was brought in by a very unassuming servant whose eyes never left the ground. The servant made to put the tray down, but Tim stopped him. He pulled the tray, and servant, to the perfect spot to help himself and instructed, "Don't move." He helped himself to a cup and drank it black and hot. Despite Ra's's many flaws, he knew good coffee. For his second cup, he took his time doctoring it to drink at his leisure. "Okay, you can go now."

Dismissed, the servant scurried away. 

Tim savored the rich blend in his cup as his attentioned returned to Ra's. "What now?"

"I have called a meeting. I would like for you to attend."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Any chance I could get some clothes before that? I'm feeling a tad underdressed." 

Ra's's haughty facade creased into a frown, the insinuated slight on his hospitality offending him. "Yes, yes. I shall have your repaired costume brought out momentarily." 

He motioned imperiously to another of the ubiquitous servants that seemed to litter the area whenever the old power-monger was present to do just that. 

Even though his repaired suit was brought out to him promptly, Tim took the time to finish his coffee before putting his clothes back on. Not that he thought his nudity bothered the older man — he was from times when bare skin was hardly taboo. No, it was all part of the plan to keep Ra's off-balance, and being made to wait on him very definitely kept the older man that. 

He couldn't keep delaying without being too obvious about it though, so soon enough he was dressed and following a servant who'd been called by Ra's to lead him to the meeting. The old bastard had obviously expected things to go much differently after sending Tim for his little swim, but was now trying to reset the power balance by sending him off with a lowly servant while he went elsewhere. 

When he finally walked into the Control Room, he was greeted with disdain from the two highest ranked members of the League, the White Ghost and the Expediter. They were loyal to Ra's and grudgingly included him as they continued the briefing. 

It didn't take long for him to clue in to what they were talking about. The Council of Spiders was new to him, but he was already sure he'd encountered one of their members. Memories of the Widower and how easily he'd taken out Z and Owens, as well as injuring him and Pru— okay, maybe he technically hadn't survived his injuries. That might be something to ask Ra's and get some clarification on. If so, then he and Jason had just a little bit more in common now.

Either way, what he was hearing wasn't good. Fourteen hits, some simultaneously, and with six different M.O.s to date, no pattern to the attacks except their targets were all assassins.

"... and there have been no witnesses, until now."

Tim felt the weight of every single eye in the room turn on him and Pru. He didn't react, while she twitched. 

"Whoever they are, this 'Council' has declared _war_ on the League of Assassins."

Remembering what had been said in his case, Tim spoke up. "I don't think so. This isn't war to them, this is _sport_."

Variations of "What?" rang from throughout the room.

The White Ghost however, growled with clenched teeth, "Explain."

"When we were attacked by the Widower, he _thanked_ us for playing. I think this Council of Spiders is hunting the League of Assassins for _fun_."

"Our orders remain the same. Ra's al Ghul has charged us with hunting down this Council and ending their arrogance." That turn of phrase was rich coming from someone like the Demon's Head. Pot meet kettle much? The White Ghost turned his attention to Tim. "You and Prudence are the only two people on this earth who have direct knowledge of one of them. Ra's al Ghul wishes _you_ to lead the League in this endeavor, Tim Drake."

Tim blinked slowly as he throttled any outward show of the sheer shock he was feeling at the moment. Well, shit. Then he had to throttle any outward expression of glee as he realised what this meant. He could demand complete access to the Expediter's system. This was pure and utter gold. With this, he could easily multitask and take some serious advantage of the situation using the dark side version of Oracle's set up, really do some house cleaning on a more global scale. 

Mind already racing with plans, he stood and calmly said, "I need access to everything. We start now."

The look of sheer horror on the Expediter's face at his words made him positively ache for his old camera.

* * *

"This is a mistake. Kill him. Kill him _now_."

Tim was in Expediter's chair, and boy, he really wasn't happy about it. Thankfully the White Ghost was a tiny bit more reasonable. 

"It is not our place to question the will of the Demon's Head. If Ra's al Ghul wishes to favour this child, then so be it."

Well, with his words at least, his tone said something entirely different. Tim couldn't care less what they thought as long as they didn't interfere. Outwardly he was doing exactly what Ra's wanted him to do, tracking down the Council of Spiders, figuring out who they were, and trying to predict their next moves. Easy peasy. Batman had him doing similar work back when he was still in training to be Robin.

_He wasn't Robin anymore._

It still hurt, so bad, whenever he remembered that. He pushed down _Tim's_ feelings and pulled Red Robin up to delve even deeper into the Expediter's system. Yes, it was pulling a Bruce, but sometimes, he just had to. It was the only way to cope. 

Screens flickered almost faster than the eye could track as his fingers flew over the keyboards while he sifted through _everything_. He was learning so, so much as he trawled through all the information he now had access to — it was illuminating to say the least. 

Tim hadn't really given much thought to the League outside of them existing to protect Ra's, they were the faceless killers and ninja that he had to tangle with here and there. But they were also a business — and a very lucrative one at that. An organization of high-end contract killers that still managed to kill over a hundred people a month worldwide. That was a lot of money coming in and oh, — naughty naughty — they didn't pay their taxes. _Tsk_. 

He dropped that thread of inquiry as he began to set up three hits, obvious ones, that he hoped to use to draw out the Council of Spiders so that one could be caught and questioned. As he worked, he was also very subtly inserting three programs he had written deep into the network, setting up a few contingencies for future events. No plan survived first contact with anyone, never mind an enemy like Ra's.

Hits set up, Tim got up from the computer system he'd absolutely pillaged, and wandered off, the White Ghost shadowing him. It was time to brief the teams he was soon sending out.

* * *

For over an hour, Tim laid in wait with Pru for their target. Their patience was finally rewarded when a lone man approached their operative. Leaping into action, he signalled the rest of their team to follow. 

"Surrender!" he ordered as they surrounded the target. If he were still the same person he used to be — the one who so perfectly toed the Bats' line in the sand — he would've added some bullshit about letting the guy live, but he wasn't that guy anymore.

Predictably, the member of the Spider Council fought hard. He was fast, not a metahuman, but he could move well for a guy tipping the scales at about one-eighty and somewhere slightly over six feet tall. He was strong too. The artificial claws strapped to his hands were the biggest problem though, coated with one hell of a neurotoxin. The effects on one of the ninja was horrific. 

Unfortunately, he was very adept with his chosen weapons and the twelve ninja from the team were all swiftly killed. 

Now, it was down to just Pru and Tim against a Council of Spiders assassin. At least this time, they knew what they were going up against.

Pru managed to get in close, evading the claws at the same time, but the assassin elbowed her right off the edge of the roof. Crap. 

Tim managed to catch her and reel her up with a grapple. It pained him to do it, but he still had a part to play and Batman's former Robin would do just that. However, the short time he'd taken his eyes off the fight left him worryingly open. 

He'd no sooner anchored the grapple and set it to reel in automatically when he was forced to evade a slashing lunge from the side, almost perfectly in his blindspot. 

Tim was beyond frustrated. Not just with how the entire fight was playing out, but with the silence from this guy. Even the Widower had offered a few words. It pained him to do it, but he borrowed a page from Dick's book. 

"Are you ready to get serious about this? Or do you want to play around some more? Because I'm getting bored with you."

Words were always a Robin's weapon.

"You're dead! Do you hear me? You're…" the assassin ranted wildly, spitting out words one after another.

Whoops, there it was, the reaction — anger — Tim needed. So emotional with just a little bit of attitude, so unprofessional. He was tired of emotions.

Tim took him down. Hard.

Pru, back on the roof finally, pounced and trussed the bastard up in so much rope that there was next to no skin showing. And for someone who hadn't been wearing a shirt, that was a lot of skin to cover. 

Tim had already figured out that the assassin was American just by his accent. Somewhere southern and central, like Arkansas if he had to guess. "Who are you? What is the Council of Spiders?"

"I am _Recluse_. And instead of asking me about the Council, maybe you should be wondering how your other 'hits' went."

"What?" Of course, that's when the White Ghost contacted Tim on the comm. 

"Red Robin, are you alive?"

"Only Pru and I survived. We've got one of the Council, how did—."

The White Ghost was filling Tim in on how badly the other traps had failed — dammit, Tim's op was the only one that any kind of restraint had been acquired — when Recluse started chuckling.

"No, no, no… There weren't three traps. There were _four games._ The fourth is about to start."

In rapid fire succession, connections and clues lined up in Tim's brain. _SHIT!_

He cut off the White Ghost's accusatory ranting, "We have to get back to the Cradle _right now_!"

"Hey, Boss," Pru called to get Tim's attention. "We still need him?"

"Nope." Tim began sprinting toward where they had left the helicopter. 

Pru shrugged and raised her loaded gun,casually shooting Recluse in the head before she too started to run. She almost managed to catch up, but Tim was fast when he wanted to be, especially now that all his little aches and pains were gone. 

He was already in the copter and had it lifting off when she hit the roof. "Hey! What's the big idea leaving me here?"

Tim just waved at her and took off. Fast.

* * *

Tim arrived back at the Cradle in time to see Ra's confronting the Wanderer and losing. 

The other six Spiders circled the fight like it was some sort of show. Idly, he wondered how permanent a loss it would be if Ra's failed to win, since the Lazarus Pit was nearby, but he supposed that was a moot point if everyone else was dead and no one bothered to toss the corpse in. 

"Ra's al Ghul, the _deadliest_ man on earth," the Wanderer gloated over the body of her fallen opponent. "This seems to be an exaggeration. Yet, _this_ one, the young man in red… is he not already dead, Widower? Is he not the unknown assassin in the desert you told me of?"

"He is, Wanderer. And I'm going to enjoy killing him _again_." 

While the Widower was blowing smoke up the Wanderer's butt about killing him, Tim noticed the _blue_ eyes on the dead Ra's. The body wasn't actually Ra's but one of his body doubles. Go figure. The real blowhard would never go down so easily.

Of course that's when the real, living Ra's decided to start yapping to him over the comm. "You have a moment or two, Timothy, before she realizes that her kill is one of my stand-ins."

And that was when Tim understood. 

Ra's had known about the Council of Spiders for much longer than any who worked for him. He was the ultimate prize, and he probably wanted Tim to take care of them so that he could take over their own enterprise— in other words, taking out the competition. There was no doubt he wanted a few other things too, but this had to be the reason why he'd sicced the trio on him. Doing so had identified Tim as another assassin to the Council, painting a target on his back, and giving him a personal reason to fight. 

Sneaky, conniving, old bastard; Tim almost found it in himself to admire how far ahead Ra's had planned. But it was also making his eventual victory over the old man that much sweeter.

"Go to hell, Ra's."

A low voice chuckled in his ear."Perhaps I will see you there, young detective."

Wanderer finally noticed her victim wasn't actually who she'd thought it to be. "This is _not_ Ra's al Ghul."

Furious, she motioned for the remaining seven members of the Council of Spiders to surround Tim. 

In return, he began to map out a plan to kill them all. He knew he would have to or they would just keep coming after him. When that happened, who would get caught in the crossfire? He couldn't risk that. He might not be a Bat anymore, but he still had a few lines he wouldn't cross, and putting innocents in danger was the biggest one of all. 

Somewhere close by, Ra's had to be sitting all safe and sound, ready to watch him fight this battle like the biggest, baddest spider of them all. 

What annoyed Tim the most was that the old man hadn't bothered to turn his comm off. He was holding a conversation with some woman, probably Talia, about him and his odds of success.

"It's seven against one, he's going to die."

"I disagree. Timothy Drake is not Bruce Wayne. He isn't Grayson, or even Damian. Drake is different."

"How?"

"Look behind his eyes. I suspect he's already won."

It was always good to know what your opponents thought about you, but Ra's was right. Tim had already fought the battle in his mind; now it was time to put it into practice. He mourned that he wasn't going to be able to keep his true abilities closer to the chest, but it would be stupid to hold back in a battle against seven deadly assassins. That would only lead to his own death, and he still had to get Bruce back.

_He was his mother's son._

He had to be ruthless here. There was no room for _wishy washy emotions_ , no room for _foolish sentiment_ , or _naive ideals_. Then his time was up, and the battle was joined.

Fast and chaotic, like all battles were, but Tim had a pretty major advantage— he didn't have to fear friendly fire. 

It was actually his first move, to take advantage of their crowding him by using the gunman, Wolf, to take out Goliath — the giant mutated man-spider — and then Tangle, because that laser garrote wasn't something he wanted to get close and personal with. 

Two down in less than two seconds, so far so good. 

Funnel was just a regular person as long as she couldn't access her pouches. He took her down with his bo from a distance, hitting her pretty hard in the head, but it wasn't a killing blow.. Didn't matter really, she wasn't getting up any time soon.

Next to come into range was Sac. Yuck, the damn spiders he was riddled with streamed out from his clothing and massed in Tim's direction. 

Nope. Too disgusting. 

With pinpoint accuracy, Tim tossed a small, pressure-sensitive pellet into Sac's open mouth as he laughed. It exploded when he gagged and took his whole thoat out with it. The spiders scattered with Sac no longer able to direct them.

Good. 

He spun on a heel and blocked the Widower's swords with his staff. It felt eerily like deja vu as the man grinned maniacally at him. The Widower's smile faltered as he saw absolutely no fear in Tim's eyes. 

With a force that belied his frame, Tim pushed him away. Before the Widower could close in a second time, the end of his bo-staff pressed hard into the Widower's throat. 

"Live by your blades," Tim growled, twisting the middle of his staff. A blade shot out, skewering the Widower through the neck and up into his brain. "Die by mine." 

He retracted the blade with another twist and let the body fall to the floor.

Okay, Tim had to admit, that felt good. Freeing in a way he'd never imagined before. 

But Wanderer and Wolf would be challenging, especially with all the rest down. No more confusion to take advantage of, no more extra bodies to throw in front of each other. 

Well, it was a good thing he didn't actually need to see to fight, thanks to what he learned from King Snake, even if the man hadn't intended to teach it to him. Tossing down a couple of the blackout smoke pellets, Tim fixed their locations in his mind. 

From his position on top of the Widower, Tim dropped his bo, grabbed the other man's swords, and threw them in quick succession into the smoke. Two strangled vocalizations were followed by two meaty thuds as the blades found their marks. 

Tim remained on his knees, senses on high alert, waiting for the smoke to clear. There was no sound coming from the room. Even his comm with Ra's was silent. Only after the smoke dissipated did he see that he hadn't missed. 

With a small bit of pride, he scooped up his bo from the floor and levered himself back to his feet.

From start to end, the fight had barely lasted a few minutes. Seven opponents, all deadly killers in their own right. He was utterly exhausted, but also very pleased with himself. "I did it," he murmured between gasps.

A ruckus from outside the room had his guard and bo came snapping back up into place. Pru and the White Ghost rushed in, ready to fight. They slowed and came to a stop when they saw all the corpses, the battle obviously over. 

Well, all the corpses but one as Funnel began to moan as she started to regain consciousness. Tim wandered over and booted her in the head hard enough that the snapping of her neck echoed in the room. 

Now it was all the corpses.

_He wasn't Robin anymore._

The White Ghost managed to look paler, while Pru looked around and really took in the scene. She managed to breathe out a quiet and awed, "Holy _shit!_ " before she remembered her training and schooled her features into something more businesslike. "Good, uh, work?"

"Thanks," Tim replied, drier than the desert outside, and made his way to the Control Room. The others followed in his wake.

"Since when did you, um, kill people?" Pru asked, breaking the silence. "You're supposed to be one of _them_ — a hero."

_He's not Robin anymore._

"I'm not Robin anymore, remember?" Okay, ouch. It hurt even more to say out loud than when he remembered it.

The Expediter's corpse took up the chair, so he shoved it to the side to reach the keyboards. His fingers flew as he pulled up the program he'd inserted into the system barely a day ago, the one he'd really hoped to be able to use but hadn't thought he'd get the chance. One final finger-stroke on the keyboard and he was done. Now all he had to do was use his wrist computer and the link he'd buried in the mainframe once he got to a safe distance. 

He began to run towards the nearest exit. "Pru! Ghost! You have to get out of the Cradle!" he called over his shoulder, giving his only warning of the event about to come. "You're out of time. Get out while you still can. There's no future for the League of Assassins."

"What could you possibly threaten me with? I am the hand of the demon himself!" Ghost paused as Pru started booking after Tim. "Prudence?"

"Goodbye!" She knew from experience that when Tim said something like that, it was in her best interest to listen.

"Timothy, what are you doing?" Ra's suddenly barked over the comm in alarm.

"Winning." Tim pulled the comm from his ear and tucked it into one of his bandoliers, no longer wanting or needing to listen to the old man. He paused just as he reached the exit, not wanting the sheer amount of rock to block his signal. With a smug smile, he hit 'execute' on his wrist computer. 

Then he started running again, with Pru at his side. He wanted to laugh at what was coming, but saved his breath. He still hadn't really caught it, so it was only years of training that kept him pushing forward. 

They had barely made it to the safe zone when the earth shook from a massive explosion, throwing them to the ground.

Pru's eyes were wide with shock as she turned to Tim and demanded, "What in the hell did you _do_?!"

He allowed himself to laugh now that he didn't need all his breath for running. "They let me into the main system, the very system that controlled all the self-sufficient generators for every single League base worldwide. I was able to write a program that would overload and cause them to explode. Every single one. Cairo, Vienna, St. Petersburg. Every single mobile unit, the Cradle. They're all gone. This was a very productive day."

_He was his mother's son._

Pru gaped at him, looked back to the smoking ruins, and then gaped some more. It just made him laugh harder. 

A crackling sound came from the comm he'd tucked into his bandolier; Ra's was trying to get in touch with him again. Tim fished out the communicator and put it back up to his ear. "Ra's."

"Timothy, you are a very dangerous young man."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment." Then he removed the comm again and tucked it back away because he really wasn't interested in whatever threats the Demon's Head wanted to hurl upon his head. 

For now, he just wanted to bask in a job well done. More than one job well done actually, because he also had enough data and evidence to send to the Justice League to get them to save Bruce. Time for him to encrypt his reports and send them along with the information on how to rescue their lost-in-time teammate. 

True, he'd probably lurk around for a while, long enough to make sure they got the job done, but then it would be time for him to disappear. It had been a long six months. 

Fuck, who was he kidding? 

Things had been going to shit for so much longer than that, but the last half year or so had been the worst of it. He'd seen so much, done so much, experienced too much — and none of what he'd lived through would have been condoned by Bruce. No, he would have found a better way, one that didn't cross any of his personal lines in the sand. 

Too bad he wasn't Bruce.

That really summed it up, didn't it? He wasn't Bruce, and no matter how he'd tried, he could never be him. 

He'd tried for so long to be good enough, to fit in, to follow the Mission — but when it came down to crunch time, he'd broken. He was more than self aware enough to see that much. There was no way he'd be able to face his former mentor after everything that he'd done.

But that didn't mean he couldn't forge a new life for himself outside of Batman's shadow. Not as a costumed hero, it would be too easy to track him down if he tried that, but there were still options. He might have been trained as a soldier, but he was also a detective and a damned good one. 

The real question was, where would he go? The League computers in the Cradle had given him some ideas and there was no doubt in his mind that Ra's would eventually come crawling back for revenge. He was a petty bastard like that.

Grinning to himself, Tim rolled back to his feet. He knew exactly where to go.

-fin part three-


	4. Part Four

(Wordcount: 6008)

Bruce took a deep breath and gazed out over Gotham's skyline.

He was home.

Of course, he'd already been to the Manor and seen his family. But this was the first time he'd put the suit back on, the first time he'd really seen _his_ city after being gone for what felt like a lifetime. Dick had been only too glad to give up the weight of the cape and cowl, but for Bruce the weight wasn't a burden. It was both comfort and duty. It was a purpose.

Nightwing and Robin flanked him. It was strange to look down at his side and see the changes Damian had made to the suit. Robin's bright colors had been dulled— a black cape, sharp edges, and a sword added to the formerly hopeful look. It made something in him uneasy, a fact only compounded by Tim's absence. 

All things had to change, he supposed — Tim couldn't have stayed by his side, stayed Robin, forever. He just wished he'd had a chance to see him go, because this abrupt change would take some getting used to.

Thinking of Tim's absence brought a tight feeling to his chest. There was something there that he was missing. He knew, from reading reports during his recovery, that Tim had been the one to search for him, to piece together the clues he’d left behind. Warm pride swelled in his mind. The boy had always been so clever, far more analytical than any of the other Robins. He should be here with him, standing beside him along with Dick and Damian. 

But Tim wasn't here.

Surely, after all that time searching, Tim would have wanted to see the results of his investigation? Instead, he'd sent the information to Dick and the Justice League, before vanishing. It wasn't like him to leave a job unfinished. Or go so utterly radio silent.

Yes, there was definitely something going on here. Even he could pick up on the sense of disquiet running through the remainder of his family. All Dick would admit was that he hadn't believed Tim, and that they'd argued before he had left. But his oldest son hadn't been able to look him in the eyes as he said it.

Dick had never been able to lie to Bruce very well. Tim was the only Robin to successfully manage that.

In his typical fashion, Damian had sneered whenever Tim's name was mentioned. Spouted off insolent comments about 'Drake' and his 'uselessness'. Normally, he would brush Damian's remarks off as jealousy, but one particular barb had stuck with him.

_Grayson clearly had more sense than to keep such a useless fool around. He was blind in his grief. I am clearly the superior Robin._

The words didn't sit well with him. Bruce didn't like the implications in them, and had retorted sharply that if Tim had never gone looking, he would still be lost in the timestream, unable to return home, wouldn't he? 

Both Dick and Damian had refused to meet his eyes after that.

He'd tried to talk to Alfred about it. The elderly butler had been inscrutable, but he mentioned that the last person Tim had spoken to before leaving Gotham, other than Lucius, was Jason.

What had Tim been doing, speaking to the Red Hood?

It was a question that needed answering and he couldn’t do it with the two boys left to him following his every move, like they were afraid he’d up and disappear once more. 

That in mind, he spoke to Dick and Damian without moving his gaze from the city. "Nightwing, Robin, head over to Tricorner. I'm going to run a basic patrol route to refamiliarize myself with the city."

Robin tilted his head in acknowledgement and swung away immediately. Nightwing looked torn, for a moment, but chose to follow his protege without arguing.

With his oldest and youngest sons removed from the equation, Bruce turned in a different direction. Facing toward Crime Alley, he shot his grapple, and leaped.

It was time he had a conversation with Jason.

* * *

Finding the Red Hood in his own hunting grounds was generally an exercise in futility. That in mind, Bruce didn't even bother trying. Instead, he stood on one of the taller buildings in the area, and let his silhouette remain clearly visible.

Jason would come to him, even if only to make him leave. Hopefully, if he handled this right, he would be able to get some answers first.

A sardonic smile curved his lips. He wasn't sure he'd handled his second son right in years, even before his… death.

"So, first thing you do once getting back in the city is come after me. I guess old habits die hard, Batman. Just like little Robins."

Bruce stilled in order to contain a flinch, but that was its own kind of tell. Jason would know his shot had landed.

"I'm not here to fight you, Hood," he rasped. "I'm here to have a conversation."

"Sure, sure," Jason mocked. "How long will it last before you start preaching at me, or punching me when that doesn't work?" Quick as lightning, he drew one of his guns and aimed at Bruce's unprotected jaw. "Speak your part quickly, before I decide to stop you from speaking ever again."

Bruce levelled a look at him, even as the memory of an earlier time haunted him. Talking to Jason was like seeing a ghost. He'd lost so much of the spark he'd had as a boy, as Robin.

"It has been mentioned to me that you were almost the last person Rob-" he cut himself off, paused, and then continued, " _Red Robin_ spoke to before he left Gotham. I'd been wondering what the two of you discussed."

Jason's laugh was grating through the mechanical filter. "Oh, is that it? Wanted to know if the two little murder birds were conspiring together?"

_Two little... murder birds?_

Jason laughed again, no humor in the sound. "They didn't even tell you. Wow, they really do leave all the dirty work to me."

"Tell me what." Bruce's voice was flat with an unspoken demand.

"All those dead monsters in Arkham? That wasn't me. Your precious third Robin, always so loyal, finally saw the light. No more monsters. None of those bastards will ever kill another innocent, never murder another _child_. No more collateral damage, Batman. He's done a good job, finding the most efficient way to end _your_ war."

Bruce took a half step back, reeling, before he caught himself. Tim? His loyal Robin, the one who had insisted he _needed_ a Robin and pushed himself into his life to save him, had entered Arkham to kill criminals that were already locked up? No. It couldn't be.

But nothing in Jason's words indicated that he was lying.

Bruce had managed to find some time alone to read Tim’s final report before he went out for the night. Closing his eyes, fragments of it drifted through his head. _Preventative Sanitation_. It had seemed an odd turn of phrase at the time, a little quirk he couldn't figure out. He had assumed it referred to the data wipe done on Tim's personal cave computers. This, however, fit much better, and made a sickening amount of sense.

"Why?" Bruce whispered, not wanting to believe, but still knowing it was true.

Jason was silent for a moment, studying him, before he sighed and holstered his gun. "Do you know what your precious Goldie did, before Red skipped town to go on his little quest looking for you?" 

He had some suspicions, but no concrete evidence, so he shook his head. 

There was a clear sneer in Jason’s voice as he continued, one that even the voice modulator couldn’t get rid of. "When Red tried to tell him you were alive, Big Bird said he was crazy. Said he needed a spot in Arkham." 

Bruce closed his eyes in pain. How could Dick have said such a thing to Tim, to his little brother? Arkham… Arkham was only fit for the criminally insane, the people that Blackgate couldn't even begin to handle. How could Dick believe that Tim fit in that category?

But Jason wasn't done yet. "Golden Boy, in his infinite wisdom, also decided to yank the cape away and give it to the Demon-Brat. Like that kid would ever understand what it means to be _Robin_." There was a vicious sort of bitterness there, when he spoke of being Robin, Bruce noted absently. But that wasn't what he was focusing on now.

"Nightwing fired him," he murmured dully. It made a certain amount of sense. It also explained why Dick had been unable to look him in the eye when he spoke about it, why Damian had gloated so smugly. 

"He didn't just fire him, Bats. He gave away his place in the family to a kid who'd tried to _murder him_. Everyone's always said that Dickiebird was the best of us at handling emotions, but he sure missed the mark there."

Damian had tried to _kill_ Tim again? Sure, he knew they'd fought, rather bitterly, but he hadn’t realised it had kept happening. Had he really been that blind? 

Jason read the shock on his face once more, and let out another harsh mechanical laugh. "Christ, you're stupid. Demon cut Replacement's _grappling line_. If the little shit wasn't prepared, hadn't been carrying a second, he'd have broken his neck." He sounded grimly amused by the idea, and Bruce remembered the attacks Jason himself had made on Tim, the ones that never stuck. "And that isn't the only attempt he's made, from what I've been told."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "If that's true, then he isn't the only brother that has tried to harm or kill him."

"I gave up on that months ago," Jason laughed scornfully. "You really don't know anything about your own _family_ , do you?" he hissed, any amusement gone. "You drove me away by being a stubborn ass, too blind to see that I was telling you the truth. You decided I was a murderer before ever even looking for evidence, and sent me running to my death. Then another kid turns up, is so fucking _loyal_ to you, when you've done nothing to deserve it, and you repay him by betraying him, hurting him, over and over. When you finally get a _blood_ son, you ignore everything else, even the fact that your precious _Damian_ was trying to kill Tim. And then you left him entirely." At that, Bruce tried to interject, but Jason steamrolled over him. "You left him, and the only thing he had left was Robin. And then _Goldie_ took that away from him too. Is it any wonder he lost his fucking mind? You all set him up for it so _well_.

"Now, he's finally figured it out. You've never been able to seperate the cape from the person in your head, neglecting anything other than the _Mission_. That kid needed you. He needed your help. And you were never there, never did enough. He had to keep fighting the same people, over and over, watching them kill hundreds of innocents, all in the name of your _stupid fucking rule_. But he never broke it, because he was so _proud_ to be Robin. And _Robin_ isn't meant to kill. 

"But the hits just kept on coming, piling up. You set Spoiler on him, as some kind of sick test. All those friends of his that died. His dad died. _You_ died. And then Dick topped it all off by taking his last lifeline, the only thing holding him even remotely together — his cape.

"So Replacement snapped." Jason laughed again, quieter, less harsh but far more eerie. "I suppose I should stop calling him that now," he mused. " _Tim_ snapped, made a list, killed the worst of the monsters he could find, and scared all of the rest. Then he came and spoke to me.

"I expected threats. I expected to be made out as another one of the monsters." Bruce thought of eight severed heads in a duffle bag, and wondered. "But he didn't see that, didn't treat me like them. He looked me in my eyes, and he _understood_.

"Replacement's just as sane as I am now," Jason's smirk was audible. "I respect the guts it took to do what he did, to defy you like that. Even I never quite managed it. And once he was done, he left. Because he isn't a monster, just like he knows that I'm not either. We're pragmatists.

"Some people can't be saved, _Batman_. They'll never change. And some people don't _need_ to be saved. You might think you're always right, but you aren't. And this had to be done." He sighed again, the noise crackling through his helmet. "You never see anything you don't want to, do you? You can't even accept that _I've_ changed. You can't accept that I'm not the same boy I was when I was your _Robin_.”

Behind the lenses of the cowl, Bruce closed his eyes. It hurt, so much, every time he was reminded of the boy Jason had been. Of the _Robin_ Jason had been, the one who had been all sharp smirks and sharper wit. So much more vicious than Dick, but just as joyful, wild laughter ringing through the night like a beacon, a guiding light for the hopeless down below. He’d been less analytical than Tim, but just as intelligent, reading Shakespeare and Austen not as a chore but as a comfort. He’d had a love for life that was all his own, and had believed that being Robin gave him _magic_. 

Jason had been his _son_. Was _still_ his son. But he’d never again be the Robin that Bruce remembered.

"I died, Bruce. I can't just shrug that off, and go back to how I was before. It's never gonna happen. I died, and I came back, and you're still mourning the dead kid, grieving for a ghost, even when I'm standing in front of you." Finished speaking, Jason folded his arms, and waited for the fallout.

But Bruce couldn't bring himself to fight his son, not anymore. 

Not again. 

The barriers he’d built so meticulously in his mind to distance himself from the Red Hood— they had eroded over the course of the rather one-sided conversation as he was hammered with the reminder over and over that he wasn’t just facing another criminal, but his _son_.

And now, that son was telling him he’d failed another one of his children.

Tim had left. He had turned his back, because Bruce had _failed_ him. Not just failed to act, but actively hurt him, even as the people Tim cared about were dying. 

Bruce should have known better than to assume that Tim was fine when the boy had shown no outward signs of his distress. They were too similar in that regard. They held everything too close to the chest, whether it was emotions or plans, and only played their cards when it benefited them. Far too late, he wondered whether Tim had done that before he'd met him, or whether it was learned behaviour. He wondered if he'd ever have a chance to ask about the answer.

He couldn’t talk to Tim now, so far had he put himself out of reach, but Jason was still here.

"You're right, Jason. I've done you a disservice, by not ever learning about you as you are now." Hood tilted his head, the only outward sign of his startlement. "And I did Rob— _Tim_ a disservice by being so cruel, so hard on him. After you died, I never wanted another Robin, another son. I wasn't even sure I wanted to live. But he pushed his way in and saved me anyway, and for a while, I _hated_ him for it." 

At that, Jason inhaled sharply, audible despite his helmet. Bruce was darkly amused. He wondered how much of the former Robin’s actions would have changed when he’d come back, had he known that Bruce had wanted to follow him to the grave. Oh, it was never quite so obvious or deliberate, but he’d been more reckless. He’d cared less. Tim had seen it for what it was.

Would there have been a Batman for Jason to confront, had it not been for Tim? Bruce wasn’t sure anymore. Did he ever tell Tim that? Or was that another thing he'd never get a chance to say?

He wanted his sons back. Both of them.

"We're never going to agree, I don't think, on how to handle certain types of criminals," Bruce started, slowly, uncertainly, "But you're right that I never tried to know you, as you are now. I don't see why you'd let me, now, but if you are willing, I would like to try." He looked away, unable to handle the emotions that came with looking at the Red Hood while he spoke. "I missed you, Jay," he whispered. The night around them was oddly still, Gotham holding her breath as they talked. "I really did miss you."

Jason didn't say anything, for a few moments. Then, barely a breath of sound, he murmured back. "I missed you, too. You were the last thing I ever thought about. I wanted you to be proud."

"I was. I was so, so proud of you, Robin."

One breath. Two. A shared silence, fragile and heavy around their shoulders like a blanket. Or a cape. Bruce stared down at his boots.

"I'll call a truce with you, old man. I won't kill anyone other than the worst of the worst, the child molesters, the rapists, the repeat murderers. You'll stay out of my part of town. And maybe, _maybe_ , we'll be able to talk to each other without fighting again."

It was a fragile olive branch. A tentative offer, expecting rejection. Batman should refuse those terms. They weren't what he believed was right. But Batman wasn't all there was to Bruce, even if he'd neglected everything else for years. And he was so _tired_ of fighting his children.

"Agreed."

The Red Hood looked at him a moment longer, then nodded sharply and strode away.

* * *

After his conversation with Jason, Bruce had headed for the Clocktower. He’d intended to speak to Barbara and get reacquainted after his long absence. Instead, he found himself speaking about something else entirely.

"Oracle. Did you listen to my conversation with Hood?"

"I always listen whenever any of you speak to Hood. You never know when you might need backup."

"Then you know what I'm going to ask." He paused, looked at Barbara's impassive face. She didn't respond, forcing him to continue. "Was it the truth? Hood didn’t alter or manipulate the facts?"

She studied him over the rims of her glasses, her too-wise eyes seeing more than he was comfortable with. He found himself in the unusual position of being made to wait for answers; Barbara had long since ceased to be intimidated by his silent pressure. 

"Hood wasn't particularly kind about the facts, but he relayed them truthfully."

Bruce closed his eyes behind the lenses in the cowl. He'd known when Jason was speaking that the former Robin hadn't been lying, but he'd held onto a shred of hope regardless. He didn't want to believe what he’d said..

But if it was Oracle confirming it, then he had no other choice. She wouldn't lie to him, not about this.

"I don't necessarily disagree with the actions Red Robin chose to take," Barbara confessed in a quiet tone, no less certain for its lack of volume. 

Bruce's eyes flew back open to meet hers. "How can you —"

"Because, Bruce, rehabilitation only works when the one you're trying to rehabilitate _wants_ to get better." She stared him dead in the eye, steel in her gaze. "The Joker never wanted to change."

"We have no right to play judge and jury, no right to play executioner. Once that line is crossed, we can't go back."

"That's true," Barbara conceded, "But if I'd ever had the chance, I would have shot the Joker myself." She turned back to her computers, the all-seeing Oracle already back at work. Stunned and off balance, Bruce took the dismissal for what it was.

He left. 

Shortly after, Bruce ran into Batgirl on the rooftops. It was another shock to see Stephanie in a version of Barbara's old suit, while Cass — his daughter — was so far away. When he mentioned Tim, Steph looked away guiltily.

"I don't have the right, I don't think, to talk about Tim anymore. Not after what I did, what _we_ did," she whispered, before dashing away. 

Stewing over that, he returned to doing a proper patrol, catching a few muggers and scaring would-be criminals until it got closer to dawn.

Returning to the cave, he once again met up with Nightwing and Robin. 

Armed with more knowledge this time around, Bruce confronted them. “Dick, what happened when you fired Tim as Robin?”

Defensive words tumbled out, “I didn’t fire him! I tried to show him that he’d outgrown Robin, that he was too much my equal to follow me around.” 

Bruce noted that Dick didn’t answer the question he’d been asked. 

“Besides, Drake was—” Damian started to speak, his tone already condescending, but Bruce didn’t want to hear him at that point.

“Quiet Damian, I wasn’t asking you. Dick, did you _tell_ him that you thought he’d outgrown Robin, or did you just give it to Damian?”

“I did tell him! He wouldn’t listen, he kept insisting you weren’t gone—” Dick cut himself off. 

“As it happens, he was correct. However, that doesn’t really answer my question.” Bruce did his best to keep his tone free of judgement, but it was difficult when he was reminded that without his missing son, he would never have made it home. “What happened when Tim was fired?”

“I— I gave Damian the Robin suit, but Tim saw him in it before I had a chance to explain! I didn’t mean— I didn’t want him to leave, but he wouldn’t listen to me, said I was choosing Damian over him! I didn’t know what to _do!_ ” Dick’s speech accelerated, anxiety pitching the words higher. "This is my fault, B! I pushed him too hard, drove him away! I knew he was in a bad place, but I didn't think that Tim— that Tim would—" He stopped, unable to continue, voice breaking as the pain and guilt became too much.

Damian took the chance to speak and used it to complain. "I can't believe that _Drake_ is allowed to get away with killing those ludicrous ruffians. I never expected it, but I suppose the milksop has some spine, after all."

"Damian! Don't say that! We might not have been able to spare the time before, but now that Bruce is back, I'm sure Tim will be brought to justice just like any other killer. We'll—"

"No."

Bruce's voice rang through the cave. His remaining sons turned to stare at him in shock.

"Tim did not kill senselessly, or thoughtlessly. He only killed those who had proven to be completely irredeemable. He didn't even kill other Rogues, like Freeze, who had motives other than murder, or Harley and Ivy, who still show signs of potential rehabilitation. Hunting Tim down isn't a priority." He paused, took a deep breath. "We've all betrayed him enough."

Dick flinched, and Damian looked sour, but he was done. It had been a long night, and far more emotional than expected. He turned and walked up the stairs. It was time for bed, even though he suspected sleep would be a long time in coming. 

* * *

"It’s time to get up, Master Bruce. You have slept quite long enough. Lunch will be served within the hour."

Bruce opened his eyes blearily, and then squeezed them back shut as Alfred whisked the curtains open, grumbling quietly.

Sleep had eluded him until only a short time ago, so he could be excused for stumbling his way out of bed and dozing in the shower.

Downstairs, Alfred already had coffee waiting. He barely managed to take one sip of the heavenly beverage when his oldest friend returned with food. 

Breakfast was silent as Bruce dragged himself to true wakefulness and finished eating. Once he'd taken the last mouthful, he set his fork down.Like the omniscient being they all joked he was, Alfred came back out to the dining room to gather the dishes. 

Bruce stared at him thoughtfully. "I'm assuming you already know about my various conversations last night," he said.

Alfred barely even paused in his actions. "If you mean your discussions with Miss Gordon and your sons, then yes. Master Richard was quite distraught last night, and he wasn't the only one."

"Am I making the right choice, Alfred?"

The butler set the plates back down, and turned to meet Bruce's eyes properly. "I was a soldier, Master Bruce. I learned early on that there are always casualties in war. And it is necessary, sometimes, for a soldier to take a life in defense of others. Gotham has been your personal war for years, and while Masters Dick and Jason were treated as your sons, you turned Master Tim into your soldier. Your so-called Rogues had made Gotham into a warzone, and as your soldier, he did what he needed to do to end it. While I mourn what he had to do, I don't disagree with his actions at all."

His piece said, Alfred retrieved the plates and left the room. Bruce stared after him, surprised once again. He’d known that there was much to his crusade that Alfred had never agreed with, that wasn’t a surprise, but he hadn’t thought that the older man would condone lethal force out on the streets. He also hadn’t realized that Alfred didn’t believe he’d treated Tim as a son. Did Tim think that too? Was that why he had left without even a final goodbye? Why he’d lost himself after losing Robin?

Alfred returned with the carafe to fill his coffee cup one more time, speaking when he was done. "Now, if that is all, I'll thank you to excuse me. I am late for my weekly meeting with Master Jason. He's the only one of you boys who has ever appreciated a good cup of tea."

Bruce waved him off with no small amount of shock. He supposed he shouldn't be so surprised, really. Alfred had always loved all his charges, no matter what they'd done. He wouldn't have let him or his mission get in the way of reconnecting with the boy he thought of as his grandchild.

Intending to get some work done, Bruce headed for the study. Instead, he found himself lost in thought, musing over the revelations of last night— not only Tim, but Jason as well. By the time he emerged, it was almost time to patrol again. He glanced out the window when it started to get dark and noticed that the Batsignal was on. 

Suiting up, he headed out, making his way to the GCPD headquarters. He was almost there when Catwoman intercepted him.

"Batman. It's good to see you again after so long." Selina's voice was warm, her lips curving up in a genuine smile.

"I believe you saw Batman just last week," he rumbled, knowing she wouldn’t believe it for a second.

"Oh, but we both know that was just a little birdy playing dress up in Daddy's suit. While that boy is many things, he'll never be _you_. And I'm so not into being anyone's Mrs. Robinson," she purred. 

Bruce cringed inside, just a little. 

Outwardly, he tilted his head in acknowledgement instead. "I've had a few things to take care of, over the last few days," he murmured. "Perhaps you can help me with one of them. Did Red Robin speak to you before he left Gotham?" 

Selina was silent for several long moments, all flirtatiousness gone.

"Yes," she finally responded quietly. "I wasn't on his… list, I suppose, of people to threaten, but Harley called me, hysterical because she was. He'd found her and Ivy at an, ah, inopportune moment, but that didn't stop him from scaring both of them with his warning. I went after him because nothing about that seemed right to me. It was so out of character.

"But then I spoke to him." Here she paused again as if wondering whether to keep going. "And I was terrified." She took a shaky breath, before continuing, "I'd never seen him like that before, Bruce. He was so… empty.

"He looked me in the eyes, and said he didn't need to talk to me, because I hadn't killed anyone. Then he smiled, and implied what would happen if I started." Selina looked away from Bruce's eyes. "I admit that I left as soon as I saw Red Hood approaching. I didn't want to spend another moment there."

Bruce took this all in, silently. It was a missing piece to the puzzle, albeit one that wasn’t imperative. But it did give him a better understanding of Tim’s movements and thought patterns that fateful night.

While he brooded, Selina recovered her composure, and slipped up to kiss his cheek lightly. "Well, this was more gloomy than I'd intended," she said playfully. "Hopefully our next meeting is a little more… fun." 

She darted away. Bruce watched her go.

Without any more distractions, he made it to the top of the GCPD headquarters quickly. Commissioner Gordon was there waiting for him.

"I have a casefile for you," Jim announced, not even commenting on his long absence. Without a doubt, he’d spotted the difference between him and Dick immediately, not that Bruce expected any less from his friend. His voice turned sly as he continued, "It's one _you_ haven't seen before. I could use some fresh eyes on it."

He flicked the file open, and paused to take in the notes about the Arkham massacre. Of course it would be. 

Not noticing anything amiss in the reaction, Jim spoke again. "None of my detectives tried too much to find that particular killer. There's been some mutterings that whoever they are, they did us all a favor. Regardless, the case has gone cold." He paused to light a smoke. "I'll admit, I did wonder whether to let sleeping dogs lie on this one."

Bruce took a moment to consider everything he's learned over the past 24 hours. He could tell his old friend right now who the killer was. Say that he'd find him, bring him to justice.

But that would be a lie.

Instead, he rumbled, "I'll look it over. See if there's anything that got missed the first time around."

Jim exhaled, and studied Batman through the smoke trailing from his mouth. "I'm sure you will." His tone was inscrutable. He turned away, and Bruce went to make his exit.

"By the way, it's good to have you back,” Jim called after him. “Your eldest still makes too many of those god-awful puns!"

Bruce decided not to respond to that.

* * *

Perched at the top of Wayne Tower, Bruce looked out over Gotham. The past day had given him a lot to think about, and he thought best where it was quiet. 

"Brooding again, old man?"

Apparently, he wasn't going to get his quiet tonight. He turned his head away from Gotham's skyline to look at his second son. Jason was standing about thirty paces behind him, helmet for once not on. Instead, it was tucked under his arm. As Bruce watched, the boy — no, the man — strode forward to meet him, peeling off his crimson domino. 

"I wasn't brooding," Bruce protested half-heartedly. "I was just… thinking." 

Jason laughed and sat down beside him, crossing his legs and turning to face the horizon. 

Bruce kept his eyes on his son — and for once, it wasn't because he needed to keep track of an enemy. No, he just wanted to relearn Jason's face, so achingly similar to the boy he had been, the boy he had failed. But to continue to think of him as that boy was to do him a disservice. 

Keeping his eyes on the skyline, Jason spoke. "Sure looked like brooding to me, but whatever. What're you _thinking_ about then, Batman?"

It struck Bruce then, that it was _Jason_ who had come here to talk, and not the Red Hood. His son wore no helmet, and had removed his mask, but Bruce's cowl was still on. And that had been his problem for far too many years, he realised. He'd spent too long interacting with his children as if they were only other vigilantes he had to train, tools in his Mission. It needed to stop.

He pushed back the cowl. Jason caught the movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to look at him properly, startled by the action. 

Bruce let his lips curve upward, just the tiniest bit. "I was thinking about Tim, actually."

"What, planning how to hunt him down already? You've only been back in Gotham for what? Three days? Maybe you should take it easy, old man." There was a surprising level of concern in Jason's voice. "And besides, you wouldn't even be back if it wasn't for Tim. Your _Golden Boy_ sure wasn't gonna go looking for you." 

And there was the venom Bruce was so used to. Would they ever reach a point where it wasn’t present with each interaction they had going forward?

"No, you misunderstand,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to go looking for Tim. He's earned his peace." At those words, Jason turned to study him more closely. Bruce met his eyes calmly, well able to withstand the evaluating gaze. "I'm letting this one go."

"Huh," Jason mused. "For once, I actually believe you when you say that." Bruce felt mildly offended at that, and his son had to laugh at him, picking up on it. "C'mon, it's not like you have a very good track record with that."

Bruce tilted his head in acknowledgement, conceding the point. "I would like to say one thing to Tim though," he stated with a soft sigh.

"What? Wanna warn him that the big bad Bat will track him down if he steps out of line again?" Jason mocked, a sneer across his lips. 

"No. I just want to thank him." Bruce looked back toward the city. Gotham glittered in the moonlight, all her flaws and stains concealed by shadows, so that all that was visible was her shine. "You're right that I wouldn't be here without him, and he disappeared before I was even back. I never got to tell him how grateful I was. Not just for bringing me home, but for everything he's ever done for me."

Jason studied him for a moment longer, then stood, putting his domino back on and sliding his helmet over his head. He spun on his heel and walked away from Bruce, who stood and turned to watch him go. 

Not turning back, he paused for just a moment. "You sounded sincere, old man, so I'll tell you this. I'll let Tim know what you said."

Bruce started, but his son was already gone. Taking a deep breath, he let himself smile.

Perhaps he couldn't watch over Jason and Tim anymore. Red Hood and Red Robin had both grown up, and left the nest — or been forced out. In all likelihood, they might not ever come back.

But even if he couldn't help them anymore, maybe, just maybe, they'd help each other.

He took one last deep breath, and drew the cowl back over his head. Gotham might look beautiful from this height, but she was always dangerous. 

It was time for Batman to get to work.

-fin-


End file.
